


Operation Incarcerated

by smithsonianstucky (thelarenttrap)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Bucky Barnes, Banter, Blood and Gore, Clint is a bit misogynistic whoops, Dark Steve Rogers, Dubious Science, F/M, M/M, POV Alternating, Pining, Suicide Squad AU, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 00:34:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7780012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelarenttrap/pseuds/smithsonianstucky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But what if the heroes we hold dear to our hearts had never been heroes? What if the world wasn't protected by them, but scared of them? </p><p>Everyone of our heroes comes with a story and a kryptonite, and one will always be their undoing.<br/>...<br/>aka the Suicide Squad/Marvel crossover no one asked for but I decided we needed. Updates slowly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is unbetaed, all mistakes are my own. This is meant as something fun for me to write, not a serious fic embarkment.

“How many of you remember from your U.S. History courses the infamous Steven Grant Rogers?”

The room is quiet, just the rustle of clothing as the majority of the occupants of the room raise their hand. The long, glass conference table—littered with file folders, coffee cups, and laptops—is an accurate indication of these people’s lives. The nation is on high alert. Director of SHIELD, Nick Fury, stands at the head with a screen behind him showing an image of the former “Captain America”.

“What about Natasha Romanoff?” The picture changes and only one less hand ascends into the air. A smile plays at Fury’s lips. “Clint Barton?... The notorious Tony Stark?” There is a pause between each name as Fury asses how many members of the meeting already know the players in his new project. It seems that some members of MI6 and Homeland Security are about to achieve new levels of clearance.

“What about Codename: Winter Soldier?”

One brave soul, FBI based on his nametag, speaks up. “He’s a rumor, a ghost story. He was active for over sixty years, a complete impossibility.”

Fury is serious now as he motions to the screen behind him and a mugshot of the Winter Soldier appears. His eyes are sunken, long hair framing his face, and his eyes bearing such a hard look it could slice cement. “You’re about to gain a level of clearance on SHIELD intel only six before you have achieved. He is real. And he is in my custody.”

On the far end of the table, Maria Hill smiles to herself. She has seen Nick Fury manipulate a room to his advantage more times than she can count. She knows he will dramatically present, guilt trip, and then ask a rhetorical question before sweeping from the room with his long leather jacket billowing behind like a hero’s cape. She waits now to see it undoubtedly play out.

“With the situation before us as of late,” Fury begins, “We have been forced to consider alternative options to our usual protocols. With the safety of the world’s intelligence at risk and an enemy force that is beyond constraint with the average task force, I have come up with a new one.

“Operation Incarcerated takes the best of the worst, the tales passed from agent to agent in every one of your intelligence communities, and makes them work for _us_. As the saying goes, we will fight fire with fire: enemy with enemy.”

As predicted, the table immediately erupts into chaos, reproachful voices deeming the plan ludicrous and a threat to international security. Fury waits for the tide of voices to ebb before answering a single question.

“How can you possibly plan to control these villains?” a CIA member asks.

“Promise of shorter sentences and, as a failsafe, explosive implants. One toe out of line and there will be no more villain.”

“So you plan to release _dangerous_ criminals to operate a _delicate_ situation?”

“Not without supervision. That is why two of my best agents are the foremost authorities on the histories and rap sheets of these inmates. The two of them will be leading this force and maintaining control of the operational team.”

As the rapid-fire questions continue, Fury keeping his calm exterior no matter the names and accusations thrown his way, the opinions of the room slowly shift in his favor. Within ten minutes, Fury has the entire length of the conference table in the palm of his hand.

When the decision seems clear to him, Fury drops his voice an octave, the insinuation of serious words reaching every operative and director at the table. “If we are to contain the situation, to keep the Hercules Initiative under wrap and end it before the public will ever know this danger, then Operation Incarcerated is our only chance. Do you want an international panic on your hands or a clean end?”

A bang sounds as Fury drops a heavy file folder down on the table, the glass rattling. “Sign over your inmates and the force will be assembled before morning.” And just as Agent Hill expected, Fury sweeps from the room, leaving the screen on the wall to an image of every villainous human he wishes to join the task force, their eyes staring into a room containing the fate of humanity.

 

“You must know these people better than yourselves,” Fury reminds the agents. Hill and Carter sit across from his desk, the wide expanse of windows looking out over Times Square dimmed to disallow spying. The sun set just under a half hour ago and the folder bearing the details of Operation Incarcerated and the signatures of every intelligence agency still has not arrived. Fury has assured both of them they need not worry; he has no doubts that the CIA director will personally deliver it as soon as every signature is present.

“Again,” Nick tells them.

Sharon starts this time. “Steven Rogers was born in Brooklyn in 1920. His father died when he was too young to remember and his mother passed when he was in his late teens. When Rogers was unable to enlist, Dr. Erskine selected him for Project Rebirth and Rogers received a serum of enhancement. With the success of the SSR experiment, he was named Captain America. He then entered the war and was a most valuable asset before the fall of Bucky Barnes in 1944 from a train the in Alps. This was the tipping point for Rogers, who declared an oath against Hydra to avenge his friend. Rogers went rogue from the SSR, killing more than an estimated five hundred Hydra agents in Western Europe before being contained in 1947. Since his arrest, scientists have concluded that Erskine’s serum slowed the rate of Rogers’s aging to approximately ten percent of a normal human. In the last seventy years since his arrest Rogers has only aged seven. He is currently housed by Military Intelligence on the Raft.”

“Skills?”

Now Maria takes over. “His weapon of choice during World War II was a metal shield made from vibranium. He is also skilled with handguns and physically trained for hand-to-hand combat. A strong leader and tactician, we are expecting him to become a natural leader of the task force.”

“Weaknesses?”

Agent Carter speaks again. “He is bold headed and acts on instinct, although they usually prove correct for him. Although complacent for years now, another rogue situation could prove fatal to the mission. It is unexpected due to the Hercules Initiative’s ties to Hydra. He will comply.”

“Next.”

Back to Sharon. “Natalia Romanova aka Natasha Romanoff. She was orphaned as a child in an attack on Stalingrad and taken by the KGB for the Black Widow Project. Trained in the Red Room Academy, she became a skilled assassin and is the most proficient wet worker born in the modern age. She was detained by CIA agents in 2002 and arrested. She has been housed in the Raft ever since.”

“Skills.”

Maria again. “Hand-to-hand combat as well as proficient use with all known firearms. She also has a personalized weapon known as “spider bites” which can be shot at an target and emit a voltage to incapacitate. She is deadly under any circumstances. Mentally, she is a master of coercion and interrogation.”

They continue in this fashion, going through the details of every single criminal fated for the task force.

It is as they wrap up the list of skills Tony Stark posses (a terrifying long list of degrees and self taught proficiencies that you need a degree to even be able to pronounce) when CIA director Ross is announced by Fury’s AI.

“Admit,” Fury instructs, and the doors slide open to show Ross holding the manila folder.

“Signed?” Fury asks.

“Every last line.”

Fury begins dialing his phone, initiating protocol for Operation Incarcerated.


	2. I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go.

“Ah sweet Natalia,” the guard croons. Natasha glares daggers from her cell cot. “We have somewhere to be.”

“You can fuck yourself.” Her Russian accent is less pronounced than when she had first been arrested, but it still clings to her vowels like a cobweb.

“This isn’t optional,” he tells her, his voice suddenly steel.

“Remember last time?” she threatens. Her hands itch at the thought of the three agents she had killed before the epidermal had stabbed into her neck.

“Remember how we improved your cell after the last incident?” The guard reaches into his pocket, producing a small touch screen remote. He pointedly presses his finger to the screen and the cell seals itself with a deft click, glass sliding into place over the barred wall to the hallway.

“What kind of game is this?” Natasha demands, sitting up. It isn’t really a question though, she knows the game. If she won’t go willingly, then they will use force. And the force is coming into her cell in the form of knock out gas. It creeps from valves in the ceiling, slowly filling the space with its hazy white consistency. Natasha holds her breath as long as possible, recognizing the futility of the move, but putting up a fight simply to show her lack of complacency to the men that tease her day in and day out. The guard watches, disturbingly fascinated, from the other side of the glass as she finally is forced to inhale and the concentration of gas in the air makes her lose consciousness in seconds.

* * *

“Rogers, attention!” Steve spins and snaps his hand to his forehead so fast the prison guard almost doesn’t see it. Steve scares the living shit out of him, if he is going to be honest. Seventy years and the man hasn’t lost an ounce of vigor, nor really aged. It would unnerve anyone.

The now abandoned punching bags swings behind Steve, a pendulum counting all the years Steve has been on the Raft. The punching bag was a new addition a few years back, a reward for his good behavior. He may be serving multiple life sentences, but being a model prisoner does have its perks. The fact that he has not been on suicide watch since the early 60’s helps his case as well. The guard does not understand how a man doesn’t suffer mental repercussions from residing in the same room for decades.

“You have been summoned to the New York SHIELD facilities,” the guard informs him, skillfully keeping the waver of unease he feels out of his voice. “There is a quinjet on the roof waiting for you. Others will be transported in the same jet who will be incapacitated. You are trusted to not attempt contact with the other prisoners and are being gifted this opportunity. Is that understood?” They had discovered long ago that clear commands worked best with Rogers, unlike the ambiguous phrasing they used with other prisoners. He was a soldier, after all.

“Yes, sir,” Steve replies. The guard does not meet the hard blue of his eyes as he motions for Steve to turn around and be handcuffed.

It’s a long march through the raft, six armed guards surrounding Steve Rogers as he is lead through the curved halls. It has been years since Steve last left his cell, no reason for such an interaction. His food is delivered via a shoot in the reinforced metal door and new punching bags can be lowered from the ceiling whenever he bursts the current one (this happens approximately every twelve hours). It has been an overly simple life, one that would have driven others mad. Not Steve though. He is attentive as they make their way to the roof of the Raft, a place he has only been once before: on his way into the facility.

They climb a narrow set of open stairs to a hatch in the roof of the prison, three guards in front and three behind. Steve blinks in the sunlight, his eyes so unaccustomed to any natural light that even the lowering sun hurts his retinas. His eyes water and he is forced to flick them downwards to avoid the discomfort. Looking at their feet, he follows the progression of the guards’ to the quinjet.

Only the guard who had come to his cell gets on board, pushing Steve towards a seat before taking the one beside him. Steve cannot fasten his own flight harness due to the handcuffs firmly locking his hands behind him—Steve knows they will go numb soon—so the guard is forced to invade Steve’s personal space to lock all the necessary buckles. Steve accepts the intrusion with ease, sitting perfectly still long after the guard has settled back into his own seat. He can hear the man’s heart jackhammering behind his ribs.

Due to the instructions to not associate with the other passengers, Steve does not even look to see who he is in the company of. Instead, he spends the time between his boarding of the jet and takeoff marveling at the technology also aboard. It has been seventy years since he has seen the outside world, advances in the guards radios the only clue Steve has had to show the progression. Now, he sees more fully all the development he has missed. It is daunting.

“Don’t even know what a cellphone is,” the guard teases, noticing Steve’s inspection of the jet interior. His amazement must have been clear on his face. He was always a bad liar.

Steve chooses not to answer, instead eyeing the arrangement of weapons across from his seat. He doesn’t doubt that they are somehow guarded against use by the prisoners, perhaps locked in, but changes in the guns—and all the weapons he does not even know the use of—is shocking in and of itself.

“Going to have a lot to learn,” the guard laughs.

* * *

 “Stark!”

“I was not gambling, this is not gambling! We can play Go Fish can’t we? There are no bets on the table so it’s not gambling!”

“I don’t care about your self destructive habits,” the guard tells him. “I’m just here to fetch you for the warden.”

Tony smile. “Ah yes, my old friend.”

“Not so sure he would say the same,” the guard bites as she pulls Tony to his feet. The other men around the table whistle at the contact.

“We should establish a safe word before getting so rough,” Tony tells her as she pulls him away, grip firm. “It’s the only way to ensure boundaries-“

“If you say one more inappropriate word I _will_ tase you.”

“So demanding, I guess I can be the sub but it is a little out of character for-“ Tony goes limp as the taser presses into his side.

* * *

The Asset knows he is dreaming. He is not sure when he fell asleep, nor why he is dreaming—the Asset never dreams. His last conscience memory is of his workout. During his fifteenth set of pushups, he had noticed a strange smell beginning to permeate the air. Before his mind could identify the smell however, everything had gone black.

Now, his mind is full of city allies, brick on both sides and dumpsters lining the way. The Asset tries to remember if he has ever had a mission here but none spring to mind. In fact, something tells him this place is older than missions and The Asset. It is from another life.

A voice suddenly breaks through his consciousness. “Up the levels, his metabolism is too fast. He is waking up!”

“We aren’t even upstairs yet!”

There is moment filled only with the rustle of clothes and footsteps, then suddenly the alley fades and only black is left in its wake.

* * *

 Steve wakes from his nap with a start as the quinjet experiences turbulence. His eyes snap open, the alertness of a soldier yet to fade from his mind.

He had fallen asleep only minutes after take off, his body’s response to travel still being to put itself to sleep. It had been the only way he rested those years after Bucky’s death, his life otherwise consumed with revenge. He had stayed awake for days on end, the duration only possible due to the serum, and been almost constantly on the move. Sleep only came in the back of a truck over the border into Germany or lying in the hay bales of a donkey cart in Austria.

The sun has completely set now, the few windows of the quinjet showing stars as they fly above the ocean. The interior lights are on however, casting a blue-tinted glow over the passengers. Steve lets himself study them for the first time.

Both of them are unconscious, as the guard had told him, and strapped to gurneys locked into casements in the jet’s floor. Nearest the door to the pilot is a red haired woman, strikingly beautiful with her hair splayed across the thin pillow. There is a guard seated directly beside her, his arm laying beside hers on the thin pad of the gurney and Steve notices that she is handcuffed to him.

The person on the second gurney is whom the guards must fear most. Four are stationed around him, as well as a nurse constantly checking his vitals on a small tablet. Although his face is somewhat obscured by the dark hair falling around it, Steve can see that some sort of mask is over his nose and mouth, not unlike ones used to sedate surgery patients. The assumption is that his sedatives are different from that of the women. As Steve studies him, he suddenly moves, head turning and causing the unkempt hair to fall away from his face.

It is a face Steve would know anywhere. It is a face that fueled Steve to the depths of hell and back, that evolved Steve into Lucifer himself.

“Bucky?!” Steve says without thinking. Suddenly everyone is moving, a whirlwind of motion. It is not in punishment for Steve’s action however, but in reaction to _Bucky’s_ reaction to Steve’s exclamation. Steve watches in anguish as Bucky thrashes on the bed, eyes wandering beneath the thin lids as he fights the sedative. The nurse is turning dials on the tank of gas beside her, the mask over Bucky’s nose and mouth gaining opacity as more of the sedative is administered.

“His vitals are still increasing, hit him with the tranq!” she yells as Bucky begins thrashing on the bed. Two guards try to hold him down but it is obvious that he is much stronger, the only thing keeping Bucky’s seizing body from rolling right off the gurney the restraints on his arms.

That’s when Steve sees the metal. The shiny, unnatural limb where Bucky’s flesh and blood left arm should be. He isn’t quite sure what noise he makes, but it causes the guard beside him to reach to his belt where he withdraws a tranquilizing shot. He deftly uses his teeth to remove the cover and slams the needle straight through the jumpsuit and into Steve’s bicep.

* * *

Director Fury gets the call.

“Sir, there has been an incident on the jet.”

“Code?”

“Black.”

There is a beat of silence. Agents Carter and Hill hold their breath, waiting to know what could possibly leave Nick Fury speechless.

It is the operational manager on the other end that breaks the silence. “Steve Rogers… knows the Winter Soldier. He was able to elicit a response from him while the soldier was unconscious, heavily sedated for the flight. Both are now unconscious, Rogers became distraught and was sedated as a safety precaution.”

“What do you mean Rogers knows the Winter Soldier?” Fury demands. Both Hill and Carter are caught by surprise at the sentence, eyebrows shooting towards their hairlines.

“He called him Bucky.”

* * *

The quinjet lands only minutes after the helicopter from the upstate correctional facility arrives with Stark. The genius is ignored, left with just one guard and handcuffed beside a suspiciously humanoid shaped case, as Fury, Hill, and Carter all rush to the aircraft.

First they roll Romanoff and the Winter Soldier off the jet. Natasha continues to be accompanied by only one guard as they allocate their resources to containing the situation between Rogers and the Winter Soldier. The latter’s gurney has three guards pacing with it, while the fourth guard remains on board to help disembark the other unconscious super soldier.

A SHIELD agent arrives on the roof with a stretcher and the two Raft guards plus Agent Hill lift Steve onto it. The nurse carefully checks his pulse, then her watch, and informs everyone that Rogers will be out for only another twenty minutes, maximum. His metabolism they _do_ understand.

There is more action as SHIELD agents remove cases—similar to the one beside Tony—off the quinjet from the Raft, setting them beside the inmates. Fury and Carter talk in undertones to the operational manager whom had been onboard the jet, asking for details of the situation.

Agent Hill, standing to the side and closer to where Rogers has been deposited, puts her hand to an earpiece before turning to where Carter and Fury are still deep in conversation. “Incoming, jet from London in under five.”

It only takes three minutes for the quinjet from the Raft to be unpacked and departed. The London jet is on the horizon, descending towards the rooftop. As they wait for its arrival, the nurse carefully removes the needle from Romanoff’s arm that is administering the sedative.

This jet is departed in even less time, simply delivering one inmate: Clint Barton. He too is accompanied by a black case. There is laughter and fire in his eyes as he takes in the scene on the rooftop. “Funny place for a meeting,” he observes. Fury does not miss the way he sweeps his eyes across the nearby rooftops, an ingrained habit to search for exit routes and enemy snipers. Barton was hard for MI6 to catch for a reason.

It is shortly after the London jet departs and Agent Hill radios for something called “the fail safe” that Rogers begins to wake. The guards stand by in case of any outbursts or disorientation from the super soldier.

“Captain Rogers, it’s been a long time,” Fury greets him. He crouches beside Rogers, still laying on the stretcher. The guard stands behind him.

Rogers does not respond, simply propping himself up the best he can with his hands cuffed behind his back, and stares straight into Fury’s eyes. Despite knowing Rogers’s mental state (he has been receiving updates regularly on all the inmates involved with his project) Fury is still surprised by the realness to Rogers’s actions. He is not faking, everyone knows what a terrible liar he is, but he is really, truly still a normal person. Fury wonders idly if perhaps his decreased physical change somehow makes him less susceptible to change mentally.

“Care to inform me of what the hell happened on that jet?” Fury asks. His tone suggests that there isn’t an option to _not_ tell.

Rogers remains silent for a moment. Fury does not miss the way his eyes flick to where the Winter Soldier lies on the gurney, on the opposite side of the rooftop.

“Seems I’ve seen a ghost.” Rogers might never have been a good liar, but he is skilled at the art of ambiguity.

“Back from the dead or a phantom?” Fury asks.

“Perhaps a ghoul,” Steve suggests. The guard shifts uneasily behind Rogers, put off by the nature of his humor after so many years of near isolation. It’s uncanny.

Fury stands, motioning to Carter and Hill. “Proceed as planned.”

It is only a short wait, standing on the roof with a breeze whipping between the taller buildings nearby, before a team comes up the elevator, a rolling cart being pushed in the lead. Fury watches the inmates become attentive, zeroing in on the instruments resting on the cart. Fury knows they look menacing, had asked that they not waste time prettying up the fail-safe. He needs these operatives to be intimidated, to fear the repercussions.

The cart and the SHIELD agents come to a stop in the middle of the roof, equidistant from every prisoner. It has a strange, threatening air to it, the clinicalness of the arrangement. Stark visibly gulps. Hill raises her eyebrows, impressed they were able to see an honest reaction from the man.

“Wake him,” Fury instructs, motioning to the Winter Soldier. The nurse hurries over, removing the mask from his face. There is a tense silence as everyone waits for Romanoff and the Winter Soldier to awaken. Natasha is coming around, having been given more time to wake. The Winter Soldier will be a moment however.

Just as Barton opens his mouth to comment on the silent wait, the Winter Soldier suddenly sits bolt upright, arms pulling at the metal restraints on his wrists. His eyes are wild for a moment, jaw tensed, before he relaxes, eyeing the situation with an evaluative expression. As he looks at the occupants of the rooftop, they look at the now warped metal restraints on the soldier’s arms. Fury subtly receives affirmation from one of the guards that neither is broken.

Now that everyone is awake and present, Fury moves to a position beside the cart in the center of the roof. “The five of you,” he begins, “are the most notorious and dangerous inmates of the modern age.” He flicks his eyes to Rogers as he says this, a tiny shrug of his shoulders indicating that the definition more or less fits the World War II soldier as well. “Now, many people think I am crazy to have assembled you all on one rooftop. Just enough think I’m _not_ that this has the backing of every agency that had you locked up.

“We are in need of heroes. _You_ do not fit that definition but by the end of this, perhaps you will. That is the goal. You have a mission, you have imperative roles to follow, and you will succeed. Otherwise, you die or get thrown under the bus as escaped convicts and locked back up _for life_.” There is a pregnant pause. “No chance for parole.” Fury’s good eye focuses on each of them in turn, assuring their understanding. Hard looks return his.

Without speaking, he motions to the agents surrounding the cart and they disperse, one heading to each of the convicts with an instrument from the cart. They almost look like guns, but the medical aesthetic of them is apparent to anyone familiar with modern medicine.

“You are being injected with a remote detonated isotope explosive. If you directly disobey orders at the risk of the mission, try to run, turn on my agents or each other, or otherwise piss me off repeatedly, you lose your head.”

This is the step where Fury is testing his operation, unsure of how smoothly this can proceed. What he expects is potholes in the road. What he gets is a speed bump and one _massive_ pothole.

Romanoff, Barton, and Stark flinch as the miniature bomb is injected into their necks, quite like a dog’s microchip but instead of ensuring they get back to their owner, it ensures they won’t kill their owner. Rogers proves the first obstacle, as his aversion to modern technology is quite heavy. Without an understanding of what the gun-like tool is, he instinctively brushes the instrument away from his neck. The guard that has accompanied him since the Raft twitches into action, grasping Rogers’s head to keep it still as the SHIELD agent lines up the instrument again and inserts the micro bomb into the inmate’s neck vertebrae. Rogers could have easily broken the guard’s grip should he have wished to, but his compliancy had not been the aspect in question, simply his distrust of the modern world.

The Winter Soldier is a different story however. The SHIELD agent assigned to him is visibly nervous to approach the famed assassin. Fury does not blame him, but he _does_ need someone to be confident enough to get the fail safe inserted into his best asset. Everyone watches, some with baited breath, as the agent presses the cold muzzle of the insertion tool to the pale skin of the Winter Soldier’s neck. There is a tense moment before the agent pulls the trigger. At the exact moment the muscle of his finger tightens, the Winter Soldier’s metal arm whirs to life. He snaps it up, breaking the restraint, and grasps the agent by the throat. Immediately, every gun—every _real_ gun—on the roof is trained on him.

Two heartbeats, one skipped breath as they wait, bated. Then the agent is released, falling to the ground and gasping as he draws in air he thought he would never have the liberty to breathe again. The Winter Soldier glances at him with disgust before reaching his human hand to his neck, rubbing the spot where the explosive had been inserted, despite his efforts.

“You report directly to Agents Hill and Carter,” Fury tells them, carrying on as if one of his agents had not almost been strangled moments ago. “They can detonate your spinal explosives as easily as I. Their lives are more important to me than yours. You better die before they ever do.” There is another meaningful, one eyed look at each inmate. Where Hill and Carter stand between Barton and Rogers, they share a surprised look. Fury does not usually show such attachment to…well…anything.

“They will debrief you en route, so for now you get to have some fun. There is a case beside each of you containing everything deemed appropriate for this mission. Have at it.”

The guards beside each inmate unlock restraints and handcuffs, freeing them outside their facilities for the first time in years. Like children coming downstairs to a twinkling tree on Christmas morning, they all dart to their cases.

Stark has his open first, staring down at his Iron Man suit with enough fondness for a significant other. It may be a matte gray rather than his trademark red and gold, but the mere presence of his most prized possession matters more than some SHIELD techs giving it a paint job. “Jarvis, you in there?” he asks. The suit hums to life and a clinical British voice replies affirmatively. Stark begins to don the suit.

Rogers opens his to find a neatly folded stealth uniform, black combat gear bearing no insignia. He moves this aside to dig further, hoping beyond hope that they have equipped him correctly. It takes only moments to realize that the neoprene he is running his hands over is a case around his shield, which he quickly unzips and removes. Like Tony’s suit, any recognizable color display is gone, replaced with the dark colors and finishes of a stealth mission. Steve also unearths two guns, simple enough in design that he knows how to operate them and he breathes a sigh of relief that SHIELD had not intended to teach him about new age weaponry. At the very bottom of the case is a switchblade to tuck into his gear belt and the shoulder straps for securing the shield to his back. He runs his hands over the leather, a calm euphoria relaxing his shoulders.

Romanoff, on the other hand, is excited by the items. She finds her case to be topped with a black stealth suit. Beneath it is her usual host of weapons: hand guns for thigh holsters, spider bites, knives, a garrote, and a singular grenade. She smiles to herself as she grips it in her hand, body thrumming with energy.

Barton, like the others, finds a black combat suit. His signature bow and arrow are underneath, the quiver stocked with every imaginable kind of arrow. “Big budget,” he comments as he shifts through them, eyeing Fury for a reaction. None comes.

The Winter Soldier is the last to open his case, a kind of reverence in how he handles the latches to pop it open. Beside Stark’s—which housed a suit made to cover his entire person—the Winter Soldier’s is the largest. It is immediately clear why. Beneath his tactical gear are enough guns to support a small army, as well as nearly as many _other_ weapons. Everyone but Fury watches in awe as he slowly takes each from the case, examines it momentarily, sets it beside him, and delves his hand back in.

When it becomes clear that this will go on for a while, Fury clears his throat to regain the attention of the rooftop. “Change, you depart in ten.”

The lack of privacy is something that does not bother the inmates, as they have been given negative amounts of seclusion during their time incarcerated. With the hyper vigilance needed to hold criminals of their status, privacy is a concept that must be thrown aside.

No one misses the way that Romanoff turns her easy change from a jumpsuit into her skin tight black combat suit into a strip tease. Agents Carter and Hill exchange a glance, wondering what they are in for in regards to her presence on the mission.

If everyone thought watching the Winter Soldier examine his weapons was interesting, then watching him don the copious amounts of firearms and weaponry is a religious experience. The clinical nature with which he tucks knives into his boots and straps handguns to his thighs is enthralling, his ease with weapons even impressive to the operatives present. Everyone here can hit a target at least nine times out of ten, but the Winter Soldier is someone entirely in another league, a league of his very own creation.

“We might have our work cut out for us,” Barton laughs, snapping his compact bow open to examine the string as he refers to the soldier.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Rogers tells him as he pulls on his leather gloves. “I think we are going to get more than we bargained for.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think! The changing viewpoints is a little new to me, as well as this tone, so hopefully I am pulling it off okay ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	3. II

Aboard the SHIELD quinjet, each operative straps themselves into a seat and eyes the agents boarding with them. Natasha quickly observes the entire situation, the body language of everyone on board as they settle in. Most of them lugged along the cases of their equipment, more ammo and weapons in them than could be on their body at one time. This means the mission won’t be easy.

Agent Hill and Carter introduce themselves stoically, but Natasha has already assessed and drawn conclusions about both of them. Although their titles suggest equality, Hill is obviously more comfortable being head of such a mission while Carter seems inexperienced. They both however carry their guns with ease—of course not as much as Natasha does, but with extreme familiarity—and move with an athleticism that shows they have both done fieldwork before. Natasha does not miss the way that Hill favors her left shoulder, a sign of an old injury.

Carter passes out mission folders to each of them as Hill powers up some sort of large touch screen pad. Then they begin their explanation.

“The entire effort has been titled ‘The Hercules Initiative’ and you are a final effort in the scheme,” Agent Hill begins. Natasha immediately knows who the enemy is, the name of the initiative all too revealing. Steve Rogers must recognize it as well, have noticed the pun, as he perks up. There must be some sort of connection with the Winter Soldier and Steve Rogers, as the latter’s eyes have barely left the soldier since the rooftop. The way his fingers gently trace the edges of his vibranium shield is also telling, a subconscious action to calm inner nerves. There is more at play here than meets the eye.

“As of late, the world has been lacking enhanced peoples and Hydra has regained a sizable amount of fitting. This is where you come in,” Hill informs. Natasha does not miss the way that Hill skims over any details of how this occurred. “The threat is largely untouchable without extra abilities, the severity at a high enough scale. Normally, this is a time when we would contact our assets of other realms, but our messages are not currently reaching them.

“During the unrest following the cold war, Hydra gained ownership of some weaponry. It does not appear that the current threat is the decade old technology, but an enhancement of it upon studying the Soviet inventions.”

Carter then continues the debrief. “Currently, there are twenty five armed missiles in Siberia. Up until two days ago, we did not know of their presence. Two days ago, they armed via a radio signal and began emitting sferic waves of magnitudes never previously recorded. It is also the first time humans have produced atmospheric waves.

“The intention for the missiles is unknown and Hydra themselves have not yet claimed responsibility. Due to the arrest of The Winter Soldier”—Here Carter nods to the brooding man in the furthest seat from both agents—“and the attainment of his mission files, we know that the Siberian base was under their command as recently as the intelligence attack on Geneva.”

Hill continues. “Your mission—“

“Should you choose to accept it,” Clint Barton whispers from the seat beside Natasha.

“—is to enter the active base, disarm the missiles, perform intelligence recon, and take any imperative Hydra members prisoner for questioning.”

There is a pause now as they all absorb this. Natasha is looking at the file in her hands, at the information provided. It is not much—she assumes SHIELD fears criminals such as themselves having _too_ much information about the situation and themselves—but all pertaining analytics and previous reconnaissance is included. She feels Hill’s eyes on her but does not look up.

“This team was specifically designed for this mission,” Carter tells them. “We know your strengths and your weaknesses.” She pretends to not hear Tony Stark scoff at the term ‘weaknesses’. “There is intended roles for each of you. Listen to your comm units, the commands we give is what gets you out of this alive.”

* * *

There is a terse hour of silence. Not even Tony Stark talks, something Steve finds surprising considering his experience with Howard during the war. Steve does not spend his time focusing on that however, instead he studies Bucky.

Despite what he told Fury, Steve _does_ know The Winter Soldier. He is not some ghost—a manifestation from Steve’s past to torture his future—but James Buchanan Barnes.

Only Steve doesn’t think _Bucky_ knows that. He watches from across the plane, watches the observable changes in Bucky’s mannerisms that seem to be endless. Everything is clinical and efficient, from the way he handles his weapons, moves his eyes, even licks his dry, cracked lips. _Click, click._ The sniper rifle is full of ammo. _Snap, snap._ The switchblade mechanism is smooth. _Zip, zip._ The garret is operational. This is the second weapons check Steve has seen him perform since acquiring his case of necessaries. As he does so, the glint in Bucky’s eyes sparkles like the low light off his metal arm.

Steve thinks he might throw up.

* * *

The Asset does not know why he is being sent on a mission that involves taking prisoners. He has never been sent on a mission of this nature before, but his new handlers have asked this of him. He will oblige. He also does not know why this is such a versed team, the weaponry presented to each of them of such varying nature and odd uses that The Asset does not know what to think. He has never been put on a team he is not explicitly in charge of coordinating. He works alone, or with a strike team; this however is new territory. The Asset will of course do whatever his new handlers ask, that is unquestionable, and will see that this mission is successful.

It might be a little hard though if the blonde man keeps looking at him like that. He tries to ignore it as he checks the weapons provided, analyzing for any faults. Everything is in perfect working condition, even better than what Hydra provided in the later years. He wouldn’t mind a grenade launcher as well, had become accustomed to those on cases where the surrounding landscape did not hinder explosives, but he supposes the array of guns will do.

Without the weapons as a distraction, The Asset feels something akin to an itch due to the blue eyes boring into him. The silence of the plane doesn’t help, the new age technology making the engines nearly silent and the lack of chatter from the passengers painfully obvious. The Asset rolls his shoulder—the left one that occasionally is pinched with spikes of pain—and tries to not look at the man across the quinjet from him.

Eventually he caves. It is with a pang of internal hatred and a feeling of failure that he lifts his head, long strands of hair falling back to clear his vision, and risks a glance at the person they call Steve Rogers.

The Asset does not understand the strange mix of emotions he sees there. It takes him less than a second to identify each: hope, hurt, sadness, distress, and some sort of ill placed anger.

The Asset looks away again, the range of emotions displayed by Steve Rogers completely void from his own emotional spectrum.

* * *

As soon as Agents Hill and Carter finish the debriefing of the mission, Clint stretches his legs, crosses his ankles, lifts his arms to cross behind his head (biceps on display for the fiery woman in the next seat), and takes a nap.

* * *

The pilot informs Hill that they will begin their descent in under ten minutes.

“Attention operatives,” she calls striding down the middle of the plane in her own stealth suit, guns already strapped at her hip and to each thigh. She kicks Clint’s feet as she passes, waking him abruptly. “Get ready.”

There is a flurry of motion as everyone finishes donning weaponry, tucking knives into pockets, tightening straps, and holstering guns. Carter distributes the small comm units for everyone to tuck into their ear. There is a whirring noise as Tony Stark stands stock still and lets his suit assemble around him. Hill notices that The Winter Soldier watches him do so, brow furrowed. Hill wonders if he knows that Stark’s parents are members of his death count.

“Strap in!” The pilot calls. Everyone returns to their seats, buckling their harnesses just in time for the plane to kilter dangerously to one side and swoop towards the ground.

Beside Hill, whose stomach does a swoop and she swears internally at her predisposition for motion sickness, Carter peaks out the small window.

“It is snowing!” Carter informs the operatives.

“Oh good, are these uniforms thermal?” Barton asks, looking down skeptically at the stealth suit.

“Good thing Stark is wrapped in tin,” Romanoff remarks.

“It is a titanium alloy thank you very much,” Stark snaps, his voice muffled by the faceplate of the suit he has already snapped down.

* * *

The quinjet settles to the ground roughly and the back mechanically opens, a soft whirring sounding from the plane’s bowels. Steve squints at the harsh light that rushes inside, the sunlight reflected and amplified off the snow.

“Looks like a snow globe,” he observes, gazing off into the white abyss.

“If only our lives were that cheerful,” Barton says, moving past Steve to exit the quinjet. “Then I could have some hot coco.”

“I second that,” Stark calls, metal footfalls sounding as he too passes Steve.

The third person he is not aware of until they reach his peripheral vision, no foot falls signaling movement. It is Bucky.

Steve meets his eyes, holding his gaze for a moment. Nerves explode in his stomach, quivering with anticipation. The butterflies, beautiful and innocent, die when Bucky’s eyes remain void, no recognition. He averts them and continues to follow Stark from the plane.

Hill and Carter remain on board, running the operation over comms.

“Get clear!” Carter calls over the wind, motioning for everyone to head off to her right. Steve obliges, shielding his face from the ice whipping past as he follows Romanoff’s burgundy hair through the white washed landscape, like a blank page waiting for the mark of a pencil. The five of them are the only lead marks to be seen.

The quinjet disappears, instructions sounding in their ears.

“And how are we supposed to find this Hydra base?” Barton asks. They are all speaking through the comms, the wind too strong to project their voices to one another.

“Programmed into my suit’s systems,” Stark tells them. “Sneaky little things.”

“Right you are,” a voice sounds in their ears.

“Fury, Old Sport, is that you or my conscious?” Stark asks.

“Yes, it is Gatsby. Don’t go dying on me at the end of the story though.”

“Wow, I finally understand something mentioned in this century,” Steve jokes. His heart isn’t in it though, his gentle teasing tone missing. His eyes are watching the figure beside Romanoff, the one with the sniper rifle across his back and a metal hand protruding from his sleeve.

Walking behind Bucky is a bad idea, as now Steve cannot focus on anything else. He is about to walk into an operating, dangerous, nuclear armed Hydra base and all he can do is watch Bucky’s stiff gate and wonder what has happened to the carefree swagger of his Brooklyn boy.

Barton sidles up beside Romanoff, his flirtation obvious in the way he conducts himself. With Romanoff distracted and no one directly paying attention to him, Steve makes his move.

It takes three jogging steps to bring himself just behind Bucky’s right shoulder. “Buck,” he calls over the blowing snow. It is like a curtain between them, a haze.

There is no reaction. “Bucky!” Steve tries again.

The dark curtain of hair swivels for him to peer of his shoulder. “Who the hell is Bucky?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to follow me on tumblr, you can find me [here](http://smithsonianstucky.tumblr.com). 
> 
> Please let me know what you think, I am having a lot of fun writing this and want to hear if you are having fun too!
> 
> Some of my inspiration for Steve in this fic came from [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6OqqZiIIPWM) youtube video which I religiously watch like every other day (that's not even much of an exaggeration)


	4. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to hate me for how long this update took, lord knows I hate myself

Natasha may have been in the highest security prison for a few years but that doesn’t mean she is out of practice. Her senses are always in tune, always aware. And they are _very_ aware of what just transpired between Previously Captain America and The Winter Soldier.

Of course, she knows who James Barnes is. She has known ever since they trained in the Red Room together. She isn’t sure if _he_ remembers  _her_ though which is…interesting. It doesn’t seem like he has a memory for anyone. Maybe he has prosopagnosia, maybe his brain literally _can’t_ remember faces.

As unlikely as it seems, Natasha is honestly considering it. The lack of emotion in Barnes’s voice and the dull look to his eyes as they march across the frozen surface of Siberia are such a contrast to the waves of turmoil she can feel rolling off of Rogers that it just seems _wrong_. How could one still remember so vividly but the other allow the memories to fade? The answer was that they hadn’t; they must have been removed.

Natasha refocuses on Barton beside her, matching her strides. As much as her reputation of being the Black Widow holds true, Barton’s attitude is one she doesn’t want to taint with venom. A bit like a neighbor's overly friendly dog, she has grown exasperatingly fond.

She expects him to begin a conversation, but instead he simply gets her attention and raises an eyebrow before pointing at his neck. “EMP?” he mouths.

Natasha shakes her head. She doubts that Fury would be stupid enough for the implants to be so easily disabled. She is surprised however that he is already planning an escape. Perhaps Barton is the kind of neighborhood dog who digs under the fence.

He reminds her of a man she had killed once, the hardest target she had ever been assigned. Much like the international drug lord she had strangled with her thighs on the dirt floor of a safe house on the Tuscan coast, Barton might be more than what meets the eye.

“What are you in for?” Natasha asks. She moves her lips languidly as she asks, facing Barton fully and watching his eyes drop to her mouth. Smart, but predictable, like all men.

“Haven’t heard the gossip?” he responds. “They still haven’t found _The Raft of the Medusa_ and _Diana of Versailles_.”

“The Louvre? Nice work,” Natasha comments. She keeps the honesty from her voice. She wouldn’t have thought _anyone_ could surpass the Louvre security, let alone this puppy. “Ironic that you snatched Diana.” Natasha reaches out a finger and carefully touches the end of an arrow protruding from Barton’s quiver.

Barton shrugs. “What can I say, I am rather fond of puns.”

Natasha held back a snort of laughter. Of course he is.

* * *

Steve is on autopilot, feet moving but no thoughts present. His mind is as distinctly blank as the landscape they trek across, just one thought spiking through like blood on the snow.

_What happened to Bucky?_

“Rogers, screw your head on straight,” Hill’s voice suddenly rings in his ear. He forgot that through the comm unit Fury, Hill, and Carter all heard his attempts to reach his old friend.

Steve doesn’t respond, just jogs for a moment to catch up to the group he has fallen behind. Tony glances over his shoulder, suit whirring, and Steve realizes that every member of the team could hear Hill.

Perhaps something of Bucky is still there though. Perhaps he just needs to remind him, to bring Bucky back to the surface…

* * *

“Get me answers dammit!” Fury yells, glaring down at the agent on the other side of his desk. “Is he or is he not James Barnes?!”

The agent scurries from the room, tablet clutched to his chest. Fury knows the display will kick his ass into gear.

“Sir, is the mission compromised?” Hill asks over the private comms. The agents in the field cannot hear them right now. Fury turns to look at his computer, screen displaying vitals and kill buttons on each of the operatives as well as Steve Rogers’s file from the SSR.

“Even if The Winter Soldier is not Barnes,” Fury tells her, “do we trust Rogers to complete this mission?”

Carter and Hill are silent on the comms.

* * *

Tony can’t help but think about how much he misses his five hundred thread count Egyptian cotton sheets. And also how crazy all these bastards are. At least he was in low security and too smart for his own good. At least he hasn’t _directly_ killed anyone. What has Fury gotten him into.

Glancing at the displays inside the visor of his suit, he sees they have less than a mile until the base. This mission can’t be over soon enough.

* * *

Steve loses track of time, trudging through the snow deep in thought. It surprises him when Stark suddenly breaks the silence to alert them that the base should be in view soon.

“We are approaching over a ridge,” He alerts. “Keep low at the top so we can see what we are up against.”

The approach to the top of the ridge is steep. Steve’s serum and Tony’s suite help them scale it with ease, while Natasha and Clint fall behind slightly as they struggle through the snowdrifts accumulating. Steve can’t help but notice how easily Bucky keeps pace with him, arriving at the top right behind Tony. Steve’s mind whirs. Is Bucky enhanced too? Who _did_ this to him?

As soon as the base comes into view however, Steve sets these thoughts aside. Looking down, his brain settles into its old habits. He has done this countless times and it may have been almost a quarter of a century, but old habits die hard.

“If we approach from the south, that hanger bay will be an easy in. Security is always easy to surpass because of all the activity in the bay,” Steve tells the team.

“No offense Rogers but security has changed a bit since you last infiltrated a Hydra base,” Barton says.

“Why don’t we ask the resident Hydra?” Romanoff asks. Steve is confused, as none of them are Hydra, why would they send someone who was Hydra on such a mission? And then Bucky speaks up.

“The simplest infiltration is either the air vent on the west side of the roof or incapacitating the guards near the vehicles on the southeast corner. We would have cover to approach the door. This base will not be equipped with fingerprint scanners because of the cold so we’re either looking at eye scans or key codes.”

“Leave that to me,” Stark replies. “I’ve got a hack for it.”

“That air vent looks _hot_ ,” Barton notes. “I don’t know about you guys, but I wasn’t planning on losing any weight a la sauna style.” Barton has a point; the cloud of air coming from the vent is like the breath of a giant in the cold. The cloud obscures the far side of the compound from their eyes, thick enough to blanket it in mystery.

“Are we sure that gas being released is safe?” Romanoff asks. “Hydra doesn’t strike me as an organization that keeps up with environmental code.”

“Running an air test now,” Stark replies, shooting a small device from his suit. It zips across the sky towards the cloud, invisible to the naked eye after a few hundred feet. They all wait for the feedback.

“Mixture of hydrogen, oxygen, methane, and trace fulminates,” Stark informs them.

“And that means…?” Steve coaxes.

“That they’re definitely creating some sort of explosive in there.”

“And that we should _not_ be inhaling it,” Romanoff adds.

“Southeast corner it is,” Barton decides, pushing away from the top of the ridge and heading back down to navigate around the base. Steve follows.

* * *

The Asset has fallen silent on this mission. He is still confused as to _why_ he is on a mission with other operatives and who is in charge. Obviously, he is to obey the handlers communicating through the device in his ear but no hierarchy has been established between those on the ground.

It also doesn’t help that Rogers continuously looks at him with eyes like a kicked puppy.

The only things The Asset is sure of on this mission is that, one, Stark is not of the same criminal level as the rest of them. If he was, then he would actually understand the need to be silent. Two, Romanoff is hiding something. Three, it would be successful.

Navigating around to the southeast corner of the compound is easier than expected. The Asset notes that this facility must not be used to seeing action. The secluded location and lack of direct action against Hydra in more recent times must have lent them a false sense of security.

The Asset begrudgingly listens as Rogers and Romanoff plan the attack, instructing each of them on which angle to take. They say to limit casualties for now, to keep their presence hidden, but The Asset’s assigned approach is projected to encounter the most Hydra agents. He is not making any promises.

* * *

Steve tightens the straps around his shoulders, double checking that his shield is ready for action. A quick glance tells him the rest of the team is ready too; Barton has nocked an arrow, Bucky has his hand on the machine pistol strapped to his thigh, and Romanoff has turned on the wrist mechanism for her bites.

“No unnecessary deaths,” Steve reminds everyone.

Nods meet his words, some more withheld than others at the prospect of holding back. “I want my head on my shoulders,” he reminds them. Then he turns to face towards the door.

A field of vehicles, including a few tanks, lies between them. Currently, they are on the outskirts of the base’s campus, peeking through the last line of trees. They have two hundred feet and fifteen visible guards between them and the door.

“They all have too many rounds on them for one shift,” Bucky suddenly notes. Steve waits to learn what he is supposed to draw from this information. The light bulb clicks in his mind at the same time that Bucky elaborates. “They’re inaccurate shots.”

“Nothing to worry about now,” Romanoff jokes, leaning forwards in her crouch now, a ready position.

“Stick to the shadows, see you at the door,” Steve tells them. “We move as soon as the guard at two o’clock turns…and…now.”

They slip from the trees to the aisle between the vehicles together. Here, they separate to incapacitate each guard between them and the building. The knocked out bodies are to be left beneath the snow vehicles, the tires tall enough to hold the cars well above the snow and out of drifts.

“Rogers, nine o’clock,” Romanoff suddenly warns through the comm and Steve stops, using the side view mirror of the car to check his path. There is a Hydra agent rushing in his direction, gun rising. With the heavy whip of his shoulders forward, Steve throws the shield. It contacts the agent in the head, knocking him out instantly, before rebounding back to its owner. Steve catches it with ease to slip it back onto his arm and keeps moving.

* * *

The Asset hates the rule against killing. His fighting style is suited for only that, he was never taught the restraint it took not to crush a skull with one punch of his metal fist.

Now, he is fighting against his own strength to remove the threat of the Hydra agents without death. It is much harder than it looks. The Asset only hopes that no other members of this team see the agent behind him, leaking blood from his fractured cranium. It had been his first hit in this fray, and he had misjudged.

Now, he pushes a knocked out agent underneath one of the vehicles, out of the way and not to be discovered by any guards doing patrols around the base. Only five more agents are between The Asset and the door Stark will be hacking into. Easy work.

* * *

Steve sees Bucky in the next aisle of vehicles, a Hydra agent wrapped in his arms as he puts him into a sleeper hold, waiting the few moments it takes for the agent to pass out, before shoving him beneath a vehicle. Steve doesn’t miss the agent behind him, obviously dead on the ground with a pool of blood steadily spreading. There is matching crimson on Bucky’s infernal metal fist and Steve thinks he sees the same shade of red now too.

_What had they done to his Bucky._

He is knocked from the profane nostalgic thoughts by the appearance of another Hydra agent in his path, and the shield is tossed into action again.

“Almost in,” Stark’s voice sounds in the comm.

“That was quick,” Barton replies in Steve’s ear.

“Never doubt Jarvis.”

“Who?” Steve asks, glancing about for more agents before sprinting for the door, the coast clear.

“Oh never mind, you wouldn’t understand, grandpa.”

As Steve reaches the door, Romanoff and Bucky also approach. It is silent except for breathing, small puffs of air issuing from each of their mouths in the frigid air.

Suddenly a small click sounds and a small light beside the door flashes green.

“Modern day MacGyver,” Stark muses. “However, my sensors are being blocked by the thickness of the door. Other side is a mystery.”

“Be ready,” Steve warns as he puts his hand on the knob, using his other arm to raise the shield between his torso and whatever lies beyond the metal entrance. Behind him, he can hear everyone shift. Stark’s palm pulsar lights up in his peripheral vision. “On three…”

Steve counts to three and hell breaks loose.

* * *

The sound of bullets pinging off of Roger’s shield echoes back to the rest of the group. Natasha grips her gun tighter as she presses up behind Rogers, using his shield as a barrier for both of them as she shoots over the top. The muzzle of Barnes’s assault rifle peaks over her shoulder, assuming position behind her in the half open doorway.

There is a grouping of Hydra agents in the hallway, blocking their path and hoping to stop their progress at the door. It is a group of around a dozen, a small force probably gathered just from this area of the base as they became aware of the team’s presence.

“Someone knew we were coming,” Barton laughs as he crouches to release arrows from beneath Roger’s shield. Over the top of their bunching in the doorway, Stark flies his suit, bullets now pinging off of that metal as well.

“Stark!” Rogers yells as he tilts his shield, keeping his team under cover while trying to use the enemy’s’ bullets against them. At least one agent goes down from his tactic.

Before Stark can even land, the Hydra agents begin to crumble. Straight down the row, they fall one after another. Beside Natasha’s ear, Barnes’s gun clicks rhythmically. They aren’t kill shots, but incapacitating ones. Thighs and shoulders bury the bullets, causing pain but no mortality.

As Stark’s suit clicks to the floor, the hallway has fallen empty.

“Showing off are you?” Natasha asks, peeling herself from among the bodies behind Rogers’s shield to slip through the doorway. Barton follows suit, sliding beneath the shield to pop to his feet on the other side, glancing back in confusion as to why Rogers himself has not moved.

* * *

Steve can’t believe what he just witnessed. There is blood pooling on the floor and groans coming from the injured agents but he feels frozen.

Bucky just displayed the most efficient shooting he has ever seen in his life. And that includes Bucky’s sniping during the war.

“Only one fatality,” Stark says, voice robotic from the mask of the suit. “Nice job soldier.”

Steve thinks for a moment that he wants to correct Stark, to say that this is Bucky, _his_ Bucky, but he stops himself, remembering the comm unit in his ear.

“That’s not accidental,” Barton notes as he stands over the dead agent. Steve finally moves, lowering his shield and letting Bucky enter the base too. Steve moves closer to the dead agent, where Barton is pointing to the perfect head shot, a bullet hole centered on the man’s forehead.

Bucky shrugs in answer, watching Romanoff drag the surviving agents to the side, down a small hallway with less lighting to cuff them to the piping along the wall. “All menial workers, no higher ups, and he was the most accurate shot. It was precautionary.”

Steve’s mouth is dry, the calculated nature of Bucky’s shots surprising him. _What had they done to his friend?_

* * *

 “Where to?” Clint asks, glancing at Stark. “Got fancy readings for us to locate the missiles?”

“Working on it,” Stark answers. “Jarvis is taking readings on the whole building, looking for radiation and the like.”

“There were no missile silos,” Romanoff remembers from outside. “So they aren’t planning on shooting them from here. This is facility is just storage or development.”

“Might be underground,” The Winter Soldier notes. “To protect the weapons. Hydra often fears bombings from enemy organizations.”

“This guy is a gold mine,” Clint barks, pointing to The Winter Soldier. “Who needs Stark’s fancy shit anyways.”

“Your dumbass because they aren’t underground,” Stark snaps. “They’re directly north of us based, on the air readings in my suit. A lot of correct toxins that way.”

The Winter Soldier shrugs. “They always kept me underground, I just assumed.”

Clint thinks he hears Rogers choke on air.

* * *

The Asset does not understand why Operative Barton is so loud, nor why he is making jokes. Operations are serious business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is giving me anxiety to write these days so we will see how long it takes for the next chapter lol
> 
> Come hang out with me on tumblr, it's @smithsonianstucky


	5. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it has been forever but I finally got my ass in gear to continue this! Fair warning though, this is the chapter that prompted the new tag (Dubious Science). It has been many years since I took a chemistry class.

The team systematically sweeps the halls as they navigate the building, silently taking out Hydra agents as they go. Steve is still not recovered from the stoic proficiency Bucky has displayed with his gun, but it appears that he has gotten the idea of “no deaths” under control as he only incapacitates the agents thereafter.

“Remember the missiles are active,” Carter reminds them on the comms. “When you find them, you can’t shoot any bullets in that room or you risk detonation.”

“And Stark is supposed to disarm these things how?” Steve wonders aloud.

“Gramps, don’t worry you’re pretty little mind.”

* * *

Tony has changed his mind; this mission is great fun. Sure, he would rather be in his Malibu home sipping martinis but he can’t deny that the eclectic group is peaking his interest. Refusing to hand over his suit to the government might be child’s play compared to the rest of the team’s legal infractions, but they would be lost without him. He forgot that he vaguely likes people to rely on him.

Huh.

* * *

The Asset hears the click of the grenade being armed as they pass the doorway. He opens his mouth but before he can react, Rogers has tackled him to the ground, broad shoulders easily sweeping him down and covering him.

Over Rogers’s shoulder, The Asset glimpses Natasha ducking for cover behind a crate along the hallway and pulling Barton down behind her.

Stark on the other hand moves towards the grenade, spinning to crouch his metal suit over the explosive just in time. The Iron Man weapon contains the majority of the explosion, but Stark is propelled into the cinder block ceiling where the metal suit crunches before falling back to the floor. The lights on the suit flicker as he lies on the cold cement, not moving.

“Tony!” Clint calls through the comms, extracting himself from his safe spot by Romanoff and moving back into the open. The idiot didn’t remember, however, that for their to be a grenade _someone had to of thrown it_ and The Asset must extract an arm from Rogers’s human shield hold to raise a gun and shoot down the Hydra agent coming through the cracked door.

Rogers finally moves off of him and The Asset quickly jumps back to his feet, but confusion knits his brow.

“You risked yourself,” he murmurs to Rogers. He does not meet those eyes however, the constant confusion they bring an unwanted nuisance. It causes an itch in The Asset’s brain, one that he can’t--and perhaps does not want to--scratch.

“Til the end of the line,” Steve tells him. The Asset blinks.

* * *

_Bucky doesn’t recognize the line._ Bucky doesn’t recognize the words used to replace their love.

 _Is there any Bucky_ left _in there?_

Steve barely registers the words as Hill and Carter ask what happened and check that everyone is okay. Tony is peeling himself off the floor in the background and saying something about chiropractic bills but Steve can only stare at the spot where Bucky had stood and blinked in confusion after Steve had said the line.

He had thought it his surefire way to remind Bucky of _them_.

* * *

Natasha, a few steps behind Clint, had seen the entire exchange between Steve and The Winter Solder. She is impressed with Steve’s persistence, and oddly sad for its waste. The way he is staring at the cement floor, eyes unfocused and checked out from the mission, both tugs on her heartstrings and worries her mind. They need Captain America to _focus_ if they are going to survive.

She sighs heavily before moving to stand beside him. Without speaking, so as to not give anything away to the agents on the comms, she gets Steve’s attention and raises her eyebrows, silently asking.

Steve takes a deep breath and nods. He’s good. Or at least saying he is.

“Okay, missiles coming up soon,” Tony warns them as they gather themselves to move on.

“I’ll sweep ahead to avoid anymore incidents,” Clint announces, bravely stepping up with the vigor of someone accepting a horrible dare.

“Okay Mr. Shining Armor, very funny but he’s gonna do it,” Natasha says, motioning to Bucky instead.

Bucky assumes the lead without question, a battle rifle in his hands as he checks around the corners. Natasha admittedly feels light years safer.

* * *

This is really not how Tony pictures himself dying; his fantasies had a lot more strippers and alcohol, perhaps the incident fueled by company grudges, but all-in-all, if this doesn’t end successfully being with the Ocean’s Crew is not the worst way to go. And in the same fashion as Brad Pitt and George Clooney, he has grown rather fond of the motley group.

As they move on, Tony barely pays attention. Instead, his mind is whirling and investigating the possibilities of one thing: how to disarm an isotope explosive. Thankfully, the rest of their venture is without incident and they arrive, according to his suit, at the source of the air toxins. There, they assess the environment from the slit window in the doorway to the warehouse space. The missiles are clearly visible, connected to panels in the wall. What they really need to know however is where the controls for the missiles are, because that room is where Tony can disarm them. The team seems dubious of the task, simply finding the controls seemingly too simple, but of course he has no doubts. He’s Tony Stark, after all.

“If it was that easy, they would have sent in any SHIELD operative,” Natasha points out, not caring at this point that Hill, Carter, and Fury are on the comms. “It has to be harder.”

“Hydra always has a catch,” Steve agrees. “I just don’t think they knew what it was sending us in.”

“What about you, you’re alumnae,” Tony says, addressing The Winter Soldier. He really wishes he had a name for the guy, that way there was a title to blatantly avoid as he created nicknames. Who is the soldier? He isn’t blind, he knows there is some connection between Steve and the assassin, but what that is he does not know. Sure, his father had spent his entire childhood telling him stories of Steve Rogers and The Howling Commandos, but it gives him no clues as to why Steve, after how many years in government isolation, has a connection to someone of the outside world—wait. Tony pivots and studies The Winter Soldier’s face. He is talking, quickly informing the group that he was not a part of the organization’s operations, but Tony is distracted. In his mind, he is trimming the soldier’s hair, shaving his stubble, taking off some of the bulk of muscle and his gear…placing him in an SSR uniform from the black and white pictures in his memories…

“Holy shit,” Tony says, remembering too late he shouldn’t be voicing _any_ of this revelation aloud.

“Stark?” Hill and Natasha ask at the same time.

In real life, his faceplate is off and Natasha can see his face to see his severe look, wide eyes as he quickly shakes his head. _Don’t ask._

For Hill’s sake, he thinks on the spot. “We have been debating so long the missiles are probably ready to take off. Let’s just find the control room and cross the bridges as we come to them.”

With that, his faced plate clicks back down and the group readies for action, regripping guns and shifting weight.

* * *

“Control room, ho!” Clint jokes, careful not to actually yell. He is ready to get his show on the road though.

Steve takes the lead now, issuing instructions. “Natasha, Clint; you guys recon and clear a path to the control room. Tony, you focus on getting there behind them. We,” he says, motioning between himself and Bucky, “will cover the rear, take care of any agents who come up on your six.”

“We’ll call it in when we are ready for Tony to move,” Natasha promises as she reloads her handgun. “Let’s go, Barton.”

He quickly follows her out the door and into the missile room, where the ceiling triples in height and the air smells like chem class.

Despite the apparent attentiveness exuded by his drawn bow and sweeping eyes, they do sweep over the woman in front of him more times than strictly necessary for navigating the room. Does he know she is playing it up to manipulate him? Yes. Does he care? No. But does he hope they get to keep flirting their way through missions after this one? Oh yeah.

They scan the room together, incapacitating two guards as they maneuver the perimeter. Both are bound and hefted by Clint into the corner as Natasha keeps watch. As they move on, they finally find a door in the long wall. Clint crouches to pick the lock, narrating their advances over the comm unit. When the door pops open, he sees that the wall is thick, encroaching on the space inside by more than a foot. The only reason for such width is sound proofing or piping.

“Are they still assembling these things?” Clint asks, turning to face back towards the missiles. “Something is or was traveling to them.”

“They originated in this facility, why would they still be working on them? They have been built for years and armed for only a short time.” Natasha speaks as she moves through the door behind Clint, flipping the light switch with her elbow.

Inside, the room is filled with tanks bearing toxic symbols with pipes running to the walls.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Clint mutters.

“We’ve got a problem,” Natasha informs the team as she rotates to track the pipes stemming from the tanks to the wall. “They’re putting something toxic in these bad boys.”

“Report the contents,” Carter instructs. “We need to know what those missiles are capable of.”

“Coming,” Tony says. “Sounds up my alley.”

* * *

The Asset has a bad feeling about this…

* * *

With two soldiers covering him from behind, Tony heads along the wall to the room where Clint and Natasha wait. His anxiety seems to be much lower than either Steve or Bucky’s, perhaps because of his unyielding faith in his own ability for science. Toxins? No biggie.

“We will need the control room,” Tony tells the others through the comms. “Labeling never provides any details. Take it from the man who ran a weapons manufacturer.”

“That how you got arrested?” Steve asks, not looking away from the pattern with which his eyes sweep the room. “Providing for killing?”

“Says the soldier?” Tony questions. Steve stops talking.

“Make your way here, Natasha and I will move on,” Clint tells them.

“Take a look at the tanks and we will let you know once we have located and cleared the way to controls,” Natasha says.

It is not long that Tony investigates the tanks’ labeling and the surrounding room before she contacts them again. “Second floor, west side, it is a nondescript door with ‘600’ on it.”

“Roger that,” Tony says, glancing at Steve to see his reaction. He is unamused by the pun.

* * *

Upstairs, Clint and Natasha are having a silent conversation.

“Electricity or something else?” Clint mouths, motioning to his neck.

So they are back on this topic. Natasha holds up two fingers to mean the second option. They have already discussed and disregarded the idea of an EMP frying the signal receptor in the implants.

“Stark will know,” she says aloud. Carter and Hill will simply think they are talking about the toxins or something in the control room.

They only wait another minute for Steve, Tony, and James to arrive in the control room.

“Run into any friends?” Clint asks as Tony clunks inside. Steve and James stay on the walkway to keep an eye out.

“Only one, nice job parting the sea for me.”

“That feels a little wrong, but I guess there is no way we _aren’t_ already all going to hell,” Clint says.

“Speak for yourself. _I’ve_ done nothing wrong,” Steve calls from the doorway.

“What world are you living in, Captain?” Fury voice asks.

Tony is at one of the touch screens by now, navigating through screens of information. “This is pretty involved stuff, surprised they kept it up after Red Skull.”

Outside the door, Bucky stiffens.

* * *

 

“Are you okay?” Steve asks, careful to keep his voice calm. He couldn’t miss the sudden tension in Bucky’s shoulders.

The confused look he receives in answer is heartbreaking. As Tony chatters inside, Steve takes a risk and hopes the other voice drowns his out on the comms. “Bucky?”

“Why do you call me that?”

“Because that’s your name.”

“Oh, isn’t that interesting?” Tony says, still flipping through the information inside.

“Isn’t what?” Clint asks.

“I am The Asset,” Bucky says.

“Extra neutrons,” Tony tells Clint.

“I don’t have a high school degree,” Clint reminds Tony.

“No, you’re not. You’re James Buchanan Barnes,” Steve reminds him earnestly.

“That is not me.” Bucky looks torn, like he is fighting with himself, more so than with Steve.

“Yes it is! I know you,” Steve stresses.

Neither of them notice the comms have gone silent.

“No…you can’t,” Bucky says.

“Rogers, you stop this now,” Fury instructs. “There will be no further comments on the matter.”

Steve feels his mouth stop-start like he has pulled to the end of a chain. On the one hand, he needs to save Bucky, needs Bucky to remember _them_ , but on the other hand he can never accomplish that without a head attached to his body.

“Three o’clock!” Clint yells, and suddenly the bubble is broken, the conversation surely over, and Fury’s threat a distant memory. Hydra agents are suddenly lining the railing of the third floor, guns protruding between the metal rungs of the catwalk’s rails. Guns train on Steve and Bucky outside the control room. Clint, peeking out the door behind them, ducks back for cover.

“Fall back,” Bucky tells Steve, waiting for him to find safety before he does himself. Steve snakes backwards through the door just as the first bullets begin pining off the metal around them.

Bucky follows suit, returning bullets as he retreats into the relative safety.

“We are going to get stuck here because of your nostalgia,” Natasha chastises as Steve comes into view.

“No we’re not,” Bucky promises from his spot around the corner of the door. His back is pressed to the flat of the wall and he takes a deep breath before pivoting to swing the muzzle of his rifle into the open air, take aim, and release three bullets in a row. Then, he retreats as a hail of pings follow his appearance. Steve simply assumes Bucky’s actions mean three less agents outside

“Any progress?” Steve asks Tony as he arranges himself on the other side of the door.

“I’ve got option B in the works,” he replies.

Steve’s questioning look goes unanswered and he chooses to ignore the lack of information in return for slinging his shield out the doorway to knock into a row of Hydra agents. After toppling a few to the ground, it pings off the wall behind them and returns to Steve.

“Again,” Natasha instructs, eyes calculating as she watches the movement.

“Want a countdown?”

“I could do with some theatrics.”

Steve counts down for her as he swings his arm back and lets the shield fly again. As he does so, she uses the shield as cover to roll out the door and into the relative safety of a nook along the balcony’s wall.

“I can cover you,” Bucky offers Clint, who sees no need for refusal and too moves into position to exit the control room.

“He’s your responsibility,” Clint tells them, nodding to Tony, before Bucky moves into position, sending bullets rapid fire as Clint slides out the door and repels off the balcony to the floor.

“Think they will shoot around their own armed missiles?” Steve asks the room at large as he watches Clint disappear amongst the explosives.

“Only one way we will find out,” Tony replies absentmindedly as he works.

Steve turns back to fling his shield again and lets out a long hiss as a bullet grazes his bicep, ripping through the fabric of the uniform to leave an angry red line.

“Shit,” Steve says through his clenched teeth. When he looks up from the angry mark, he doesn’t miss the apprehensive flash in Bucky’s eyes. _He cares._

Steve knows what he has to do.

“Rogers!” Tony yells as he watches Steve gather himself to go out the door.

“Steve?”

Steve steps into the Hydra gunfire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're still keeping up with this story and enjoyed this chapter, please leave kudos and/or comments!
> 
> Hoping to update this again sooner rather than later but we will see lol
> 
> Hit me up on [my tumblr](http://smithsonianstucky.tumblr.com)!


	6. V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it has been SO long but if you look at my profile, you can see how incredibly over booked I am right now with WIPs, I kinda screwed myself tbh but I am having a good time

“Rogers!” Hill says in warning, unable to see but just _knowing_ he has violated operation parameters.

“Update!” Fury demands.

Hill and Carter exchange fearful glances as they await word from the team.

The Winter Soldier’s gasp of dismay answers them.

On the private comms, Fury makes a frustrated noise. “Rogers is trying to break through to the soldier.”

“What do we do?” Carter asks.

Fury sighs heavily and makes a decision.

* * *

 

The Asset can feel his heart drop to his feet as Rogers throws himself into the enemy gunfire. Thankfully, Rogers is still in reach and his mental hand flies forwards, seemingly of its own accord, to snatch at the back of Rogers’s stealth suit. Bullets ping off the metal limb, somehow not hitting Rogers—No, Steve—and The Asset hauls him back into the control room.

“You’re all crazy,” Stark says from where he is hurriedly typing at one of the control panels.

The Asset barely listens, however. He is looking into the eyes of Steve, who looks shocked. It’s like the last thing he expected was for The Asset to restrain his suicidal mission attempt, and there is hope shining like a beacon from his face.

“’Til the end of the line,” Bucky whispers, Steve pulled close to his side to avoid the bullets pinging off the walls outside the doorway. Steve smiles.

* * *

 

 “He risks the whole operation,” Fury says as explanation, eyeing Rogers’s vitals on his screen.

“Understood,” Carter says, sharing a glance with Hill. One of them will have to hit the kill switch.

Carter moves her finger over the button on her tablet, hesitating just one moment. Then she presses her finger down.

* * *

 

Clint drops to the floor to avoid a barrage of bullets. He is on the fringe of the room, where the Hydra agents will actually risk shooting at him, but it’s also the only place he can get a clear shot to keep them away from Stark.

He laughs as he somersaults and avoids another agent’s gun and releases an arrow straight into his stomach.

“Just call me Robin Hood.”

* * *

 

“What the _fuck_ do you mean the kill switch isn’t working,” Fury spits.

“Sir, that was not the private comm lines,” Carter informs.

Tony laughs.

“What the _fuck_ did you do Stark?” Fury says.

“Well, the controls here run on hydromagnetic particle waves, so reversing a few functions sent out a pulse to disable all kinds of devices in the area. Seems the comms didn’t take a hit but a couple things did. Like these big ass bombs in front of me. Or, the small ass bomb in my spine.”

Clint whoops his glee into the comm unit.

“Wait, we’re free?” Steve asks, shocked. He turns to make eye contact with Tony, surprised, and Tony does not miss how he is still glued to Bucky’s side.

“Free as the wind blows,” Tony sings. He winks.

* * *

 

Natasha hurtles over equipment like an Olympic vaulter. She doesn’t know what Fury’s next move will be, but she knows she doesn’t trust it.

She lets a round loose as three Hydra agents spill into the room from a hallway off the corner. They crumple and _fuck_ the mission and bringing in the Hydra higher ups, Natasha is looking out for her _own_ now.

Fury’s voice suddenly sounds in her ear, and she just hopes she can get back to the control room soon enough.

The Russian is still natural for Natasha’s ear and she knows _exactly_ what order Fury just gave: _for James to kill Captain America_.

* * *

 

The Asset feels the command latch onto his brain and fuel his body like ice sliding down his spine and through his veins. This is familiar, but so _wrong_ right now, his mind beyond a state where this was procedural. It’s like fighting a ghost, futile and without a handhold, as he tries to rebel against the command.

 _Soldier, kill Captain America._ It echoes in his brain in the dialect Fury spoke: “Солдат, убить Капитана Америки.”

“Bucky?” Captain America asks. The Asset steps away from the target and shakes his head as he curls in on himself, in pain. No, he can’t answer right now.

As his chin reaches his chest, fighting the command becomes too much, and he snaps. His head raises, his arms loosen from being wrapped around his torso, and his knees straighten.

The Asset retrieves his gun from the floor, where he dropped it earlier to save Captain America.

“Bucky?” The target asks, apprehensive as he hovers in front of his friend.

“Everything alright lads?” Tony asks from behind the controls.

The Asset raises his gun, aiming straight for the Captain America’s heart.

“Do it, soldier,” Fury instructs through the comms.

* * *

 

“Dammit, Steve,” Natasha says under her breath as she leaps and grabs a hold of the railing, pulling herself back up to the level of the control room. She sprints the last leg to her team members and dives into a roll to bypass the bullets still attempting to snipe James and Steve in the doorway. Inside, she launches to her feet just in time to watch James fire a bullet straight into Steve’s chest.

Captain America staggers and then straightens, wincing. “That’s gonna leave a bruise.”

“You’re fucking lucky these suits have built in bullet proof vests,” Natasha tells him as she grabs James’s flesh arm and uses to as leverage to spin herself and land a kick across his jaw.

“Natasha!”

“Do not interfere, Romanoff!” Hill instructs in her ear. Hill can kindly fuck off.

“We have to incapacitate him, we won’t be able to break the programming!” She informs Steve as James easily recovers and throws a punch. She dodges, kicking off the wall to propel herself out of reach.

Steve steps in and blocks James’s next punch with his forearm, deflecting the metal arm away from either of them.

In the comms, Clint sounds. “Guys?”

“Help,” Natasha responds.

“On my way.”

Steve takes a nasty punch to the face as Natasha throws herself onto James’s shoulders, taking her elbows together and bashing his skull. James doesn’t appear to feel it and slams backwards into the wall, smashing Natasha between his bulk and the concrete. Her head smacks into the wall and dazes her, stars swimming in her vision. She slumps from James’s shoulders and hits the ground hard.

* * *

Clint swings through the doorway to the control room and stops dead. Natasha is on the floor, looking concussed. The Winter Soldier has Steve backed against the far wall, assaulting his shield with blows as Steve masterfully blocks them, and Tony is still at the control panel.

“Thought your work was done?” Clint asks Tony as he sprints to Cap’s aid.

“Not quite. We need an escape route,” Tony says.

“You will report back to agents Hill and Carter!” Fury barks.

Tony laughs. “When pigs fly.”

Clint nocks a taser arrow and aims for the Winter Soldier’s neck. “Not going to be anyone to escape if we don’t get this under control.” He fires, but the Winter Soldier must have known his actions. The soldier reaches into the air and snatches the arrow inches from his neck, careful to keep his fingers away from the armed tip.

Steve takes the opportunity to swing the shield and bash it across the Winter Soldier’s face. Momentarily stunned, Steve tackles the Winter Soldier to the floor, but as they fall, the latter slams the arrowhead into Steve’s shoulder. The taser is effective even through the stealth suit and Steve stiffens and convulses, falling to the floor.

 _Fuck_. Clint messed up.

* * *

 

 

The Asset tosses Captain Amer—Steve’s body off of his and looks for his lost gun. It is across the room, by the Widow, but the archer is between them. It’s messier to bash in Captain (Cap?) America’s face, but it will ensure the mission is achieved.

The Asset…Bucky… _The Asset_ pulls back his fist for the first blow. The metal slams into Steve’s face and he feels bone give beneath his knuckles. At the same moment, something buries itself in his right shoulder and he feels pain radiate through the joint.

“No mortal wounds, Hood,” Iron Man says somewhere behind him. Then a metal arm is snatching The Asset and throwing him against the far wall. Stunned, he takes a moment to shake his head and his vision to straighten.

The Asset looks up to see The Widow, Hawkeye, Iron Man, and Captain America before him. There is an arrow and a glowing pulsar pointing his way.

* * *

 

 

“How do we break the brainwashing? Get the command out of his head?” Steve asks. He looks to his comrades, open to almost any idea.

“Hit him hard?” Clint suggests. “Knock it out of him.”

On the floor against the wall, Bucky shifts. Tony’s pulsar sounds threateningly.

“Don’t blast my friend, Tony,” Steve warns.

“Precautionary,” Tony says through his mask, voice sounding like tin.

Steve shushes him as he hears a noise outside the control room. “Clint, did you incapacitate the guards?”

“Some.”

“Fuck,” Natasha murmurs. Her hand is against her head, like she can hold it together to ease the headache. “You had one job.”

“Yeah, and I was hailed back here because this soldier went terminator on your asses.”

Steve strides away, backing against the wall adjacent to the door and checking if the coast is clear.

It is _definitely_ not. He flings the shield out the door, knocking down a row of approaching Hydra agents. “Let’s go, while the path is clear.”

“And how do we move the Manchurian Candidate?”

“The who?” Steve asks, glancing back to the others. Tony points.

* * *

 “We are never to speak of this,” Clint says. On the floor are five stripped Hydra agents. Standing are five high security criminals changing into their uniforms.

“Oh, I am _never_ letting this die,” Tony says, pulling on the Hydra mechanic’s jumpsuit. “For the record, call me Maverick for the rest of this mission.”

“When are we ditching the ear pieces?” Steve asks. They’ve left the rest of their mission’s items behind. From clothes to weapons (except the shield, it’s vibranium after all) to boots, they’ve thrown it all into a supply closet at the Hydra base. Fearful of trackers, none of it is safe.

“Absolutely last, we need the contact in case we get separated in the hanger bay,” Natasha says. It is obvious she is actively trying to ignore Clint watching her change. Steve lightly kicks him in the shin.

Fury, Hill, and Carter have been silent for some time now. Steve assumes they are attempting to piece together where the five of them will flee, as though any of them even know where they are headed. Steve only knows that it is far away from here.

* * *

 

The hanger doors scream in protest, fighting the ice frozen on the hinges, as they peel open for the plane.

“Shit, open, please open,” Tony says as he jams his finger down on the button. Behind him, Steve is acting as Bucky’s human handcuffs while Clint and Natasha hold the Hydra agents at bay with borrowed handguns. They had to replace their SHIELD issued ones.

Weaponless and wearing a fucking _jumpsuit_ , Tony feels horribly exposed. A bullet grazes the floor near his foot and he crouches to the floor. With his hand still on the control panel, urging the doors to open so they make their grand exit, he peeks around the platform. “C’mon!” he tells the mechanisms.

“We've got it,” Steve says, pushing Bucky ahead of him towards the door. “Buck, if you turn on me, I still have the shield.” They aren’t entirely sure where they will go and how they will handle Bucky still struggling against Fury’s Russian command that woke some Hydra sanctioned section of his brain. For now, they’re just hoping to make their get away.

Steve sends Bucky towards one door and he goes to the other. Tony watches as they both throw their muscles against the sliding metal slabs, pushing them open and cracking the ice hindering their progress.

“That’s good!” Tony says, knowing the plane will fit despite the doors not being fully open. Rounds of gunfire still sound nearby, Clint and Natasha working hard to hold back what is left of Hydra in the base. “Meet at the plane, don’t get shot!”

Tony sprints from behind the control panel, ducking as he hears gunfire, but it is not aimed at him. He makes it to the ramp in the belly of the plane safely and turns to see where the other four are.

* * *

 

“ _Bucky stop_ ,” Steve tries as he is forced to dodge a punch from the metal fist. “BUCKY.”

It is obvious he is trying to fight the command Fury issued, but he is struggling. Released from Steve’s hold, he couldn’t resist another attempt to take Steve out.

Steve’s shield is on his back, a hard spot to snatch it from before Bucky can take advantage of the opening. Steve ducks out of the way of another blow, and Bucky’s fist crashes into the wall, leaving a dent in the concrete.

“Steve!” Tony says in his ear. “Just get to the ship, c’mon, this way!”

Completely not trusting Tony’s plan (what are they going do once they have this violent Bucky on the plane?) he desperately follows the suggestion anyways. Quickly, he launches himself away from Bucky and dives into a roll, hoping no Hydra agents have a clear shot at him on his path to the plane. Bucky pursues, and Steve finally has enough time to whip his shield off his back, and bring his forearm up to block Bucky’s kick. Steve grunts with the effort and then slings his arm around to catch Bucky off guard as he is knocked off balance from the bounce off the shield. _Wham_. The shield knocks into his head, and Bucky goes down.

“Well shit,” Steve says.

“Did you just knock him out cold?” Tony asks through the comms.

Steve doesn’t answer, just slings Bucky onto his back and hurries towards the plane. “Clint, Nat, let’s go!”

Just before he reaches the bottom of the ramp, Tony and safety in view, a gun sounds and fire rips through his shoulder. Bucky falls as Steve’s arm loses its strength, a bullet buried just below his collarbone.

“Cap!” Tony yells.

“What happened?” Natasha asks over the comms.

“Took a hit,” Steve answers through gritted teeth. He crouches, shuffling Bucky’s body onto his shoulders using just one arm. His weight causes Steve’s shoulder to protest, but the pain isn’t anything he can’t push through to reach the plane. It’s only a dozen meters away.

Another bullet pings off the wall past Steve’s head and he flinches. “Get that agent!” Steve snaps through the comms. Ahead, he sees Tony duck into the plane and return with a rifle from on board. He searches the room and finds the agent, aims, and fires.

“Tony, that you?” Clint asks.

“Didn’t know you were that good a shot,” Steve admits as he finally reaches the ramp.

“I’m sure there is lots you don’t know about me.” Tony helps remove Bucky from Steve’s shoulders. “Where you at?” Tony asks through the comms. They can’t see Natasha and Clint from the belly of the plane.

With Bucky out cold, Steve turns his back to look for a med kit. He removes it from the wall one handed as Tony rushes into the cockpit to see if he can spot the other two convicts from there.

“Making our way,” Clint says. “Pretty busy out here.”

“Starting the engine,” Tony announces. Steve settles heavily into a seat by Bucky as he presses a clump of gauze to the bullet hole. With no exit wound, they’ll have to remove it. He is not looking forward to it.

* * *

 

Natasha fires a round at the Hydra agent using a supply crate as cover. He ducks behind it and the round proves useless. Slowly moving backwards, she keeps her eye on the hiding spot, waiting for the soldier to show himself again.

Clint is beside her, gun also at the ready. They’ve been at this for too long, running too low on rounds and attempting too much for the small handguns they found en route to the hangar bay. Those damn trackers in all their gear screwed them.

“The ramp is down, if you back another twenty meters you’re there and I’ll raise it while you guys keep them at bay,” Tony says in her ear.

“How’s Steve?” Clint asks.

“Guy can take a lot more than a bullet,” Tony answers him.

“I don’t have an exit wound,” Steve tells them.

Natasha sighs. “I’m down to play ‘Operation.’” Steve--of course--does not understand the reference.

Clint and Natasha are moving faster now, scanning each spot Hydra agents have been appearing. “I don’t like how silent it is,” Natasha notes as they reach the ramp.

“Plane is probably rigged to blow,” Tony jokes.

“Not funny,” Clint says.

Natasha interrupts them. “Ready to go up.” Tony must have been waiting with his finger on the button; the ramp begins to move immediately, lifting the two of them into the plane’s belly.

They don’t relax their guns until it clicks shut with a subtle clang. Then Natasha looks up to see James unconscious on the seat and Steve beside him with glossy red covering his hand and a lump of gauze. “You’re having a fun day.”

“The best,” Steve says with a self-deprecating smile.

“Any ideas on how long he will be out?” Clint asks, motioning to Bucky.

No one answers, no ideas ready.

“Okay, engine is nearly warm. Ditch your comms,” Tony tells them. “We’re chucking these bad boys out the window.” He stands before each of them and puts out his hand. After handing over his comm unit, Clint heads to the cockpit. He is the most capable pilot of the five.

“Do me a favor and tap that purple button,” Tony says to him. The ramp opens an inch, and Tony spills the comms out and onto the hangar bay floor. “Any other of SHIELD’s goodies still around?”

Steve raises his good arm and motions to the harness for the shield still around his shoulders. “Gonna need some help.”

Clint watches, _not_ jealous, as Natasha moves to his side and carefully helps him shrug out of the straps. Steve sucks air in sharply a few times, but doesn’t seem to be in too much pain from the movement. Tony snatches the straps from Natasha’s hands and shoves them out too.

“The shield is good,” Steve says, motioning to where it’s sat by his feet. “No way they could get a tracker into the vibranium.”

“Hey, who is the scientist here?” Tony asks. Then, “But you’re absolutely right.”

Natasha rolls her eyes as Tony heads back to the cockpit. That’s when Clint gasps. “Incoming!”

The plane rocks heavily as something hits the side. Bucky falls from sprawled on the seats to the floor. Steve rocks forwards, barely staying in his seat. Natasha loses her balance and falls, rolling back to her feet and moving towards the cockpit.

“Some sort of grenade, they’re trying to take out the engine,” Clint hurriedly tells Tony as they strap themselves in.

“Get us the fuck out of here,” Steve calls to them.

Clint knocks the last few switches into place and begins steering the plane out the doors. It’s going to be a tight squeeze but he has fit himself down an air duct. This is barely a challenge.

Behind him, he can hear a scuffle, and Steve making a noise. “Alright back there?” he asks as the wings pass the doors, almost scraping. The plane rocks again, throwing them all off balance for a second, as a Hydra agent launches another grenade.

“Let’s get airborne,” Tony says as he handles the controls on his side. Clint pulls the control wheel back and the plane attempts lift off. They are barely clear of the building, but it’s possible to get in the air. Probably.

The click of a gun behind them causes both Tony and Clint to turn.

“What the hell!”

Natasha is standing beside Steve with a gun to his head. Before them, Bucky crouches, awake. It’s a standoff.

“Did The Red Scare go rogue?” Tony asks. Clint hurriedly looks forwards again; he is attempting to fly a plane after all.

“Just having an epiphany is all,” she answers.

* * *

 

It takes a lot for Steve to sit still as Natasha presses the muzzle of the gun more firmly to his temple. He does not especially trust these days, but right now he has to. He can see the battle behind Bucky’s eyes; can watch him fight the brainwashing. _C’mon Buck._

Even if Fury’s command had been to kill Steve, the Bucky inside the Winter Soldier cannot simply watch someone else do it. His mind is disheveled, both fighting the brain washing and the blow Steve had dealt. Steve doesn’t think the Winter Soldier is capable at the moment of calling Natasha’s bluff. Bucky can shine through.

When Bucky’s eyes shift from Steve’s to Natasha, he knows it’s over. Bucky won.

Natasha immediately removes the gun, putting both hands up. Bucky _does_ look like he is about to go after her. He doesn’t however. He simply relaxes out of his crouch and sits heavily on the floor, like a child.

“Long day?” Steve asks, patting the seat beside him. Bucky doesn’t move and he doesn’t know if he had expected him to. Bucky does nod though.

“Not over yet!” Clint says as the plane suddenly tilts. “They’ve still got firepower down there!”

The sudden movement causes Bucky to slide across the floor, onto the closed ramp, and into the back wall. Natasha loses her balance beside Steve and he pulls her down into the seat behind her.

“Buckle up!” Tony yells. The plane rocks as they take another hit.

“How long until we are out of range?” Steve asks.

Tony takes a moment to respond. “Only 2000 more feet.”

“Brace yourselves!” Clint warns. At the back of the plane, Bucky grips a strap on the wall to keep stable as another explosion rocks them.

“Almost there,” Tony updates.

The plane continues to climb, and Clint pulls it to the side and successfully avoids another hit. Out the windows, Steve can see they’re evading more of the explosives than not, but he doesn’t think the plane can take many more hits.

“Is that…a missile from a bazooka?” Natasha asks, astounded.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Tony muses. “Ten seconds until we are out of range.”

They all wait, bated, as Clint navigates them higher, clouds gathering outside the windows.

“Is it snowing?” Steve asks.

“Working up to a snowstorm I believe,” Tony informs them. “Also, we’re clear.”

Natasha and Steve relax at the same time. Bucky hesitantly moves off the wall, releasing the strap he had held for support. He looks to Steve, who again pats the seat beside him. Bucky moves back up the plane and places himself beside Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter! I hope to have the epilogue out sooner rather than later. Also, I want to do a complete overhaul of this fic when I'm done (rewording a lot of stuff, clarifying sentences, adding more details) so if you like rereading stuff at all, this is probably a good option for the future lol. Please leave kudos and comment if you enjoyed, feedback on my fics is literally my life source!


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